


Aftermath

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: SPN AU Bingo Fills [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Enemas, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Assault, Top Sam Winchester, Traumatized Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 23:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13600857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: A hunt goes horribly wrong





	1. Chapter 1

The tunnels are filthy- black and wet- and Sam stepped in something a while back that he does  _ not  _ want to think too hard about. If  _ Sam _ thinks it’s gross, Dean has to be crawling out of his skin right about now. He’s definitely gonna use up all the hot water when they finally get back to the bunker. Dean’s gonna be wishing he’d agreed with Sam and just got a motel room in town.

Granted, the hunt wasn’t supposed to take this long or go this way at all. They’re only a couple hours from the bunker, and the case seemed pretty straightforward- shifter kidnapping and murdering people in a small town with an equally small sewer system and not much else around for miles. Wasn’t hard to triangulate a general starting point for their search from the locations the victims disappeared and turned up. There’s about a twelve-hour gap between abduction and death, according to the two police reports he was able to find on their way into town, so Sam’s got plenty of time to get his brother back. He wanted to have more info- he definitely prefers to have more info- but Dean was snagged before they had a chance to go undercover and Sam’s been a little too busy to do more than get the map of the sewer system or even give a second look to the two files downloaded on his computer.

He comes to a corner and carefully swings his flashlight around, held parallel to the barrel of his gun. The flashlight sweeps over a room of sorts, revealing what’s obviously a pile of shedded shifter skin, followed by a pile of garbage, and then a makeshift bed with a familiar body on it.

Dean’s skin is impossibly pale in the light of Sam’s flashlight, too pure for the filth of the room surrounding him and the naked man crouched over Dean’s equally naked, bound body. It takes a second to register what’s happening, but when his brain catches up,, and suddenly all Sam can see is red.

He doesn’t remember pulling the trigger, but he must have because before he can blink suddenly he’s standing over the body of the shifter, who deserves so much worse than just bullets. His fingertip and palm itches from the recoil of his gun, and the slide is stuck back and open where his magazine is empty. The barrel has a little smoke coming off it when Sam throws it aside, swapping it for his silver knife with the grace of a seasoned professional. The shifter doesn’t fight back when Sam plunges the knife into its chest over and over and over. Someone’s screaming- roaring- and his vision is blurring and-

“Sammy.”

The sound of Dean whimpering-whispering his name forces air back into Sam’s lungs and he finds himself staring down at the mangled body, blood up to his wrists and spattered on his clothes. He tastes copper and realizes he bit his tongue at some point.

“C’mere, baby,” Dean murmurs.

He’s twisted himself around on the mess of dirty blankets, hands still bound with rope to a pipe above his head. There’s bruises on his hips and belly. Sam’s hazel eyes follow the dark marks over his brother’s thighs, ankles, biceps, shoulders, up to where they’re circling his throat, and Sam’s knuckles go white around the handle of the knife as his stomach twists.

“Sam,” Dean says again, graceful legs twisted to keep himself semi-covered even though it’s nothing Sam hasn’t seen a million times. His voice is soft, broken, hoarse, and tearing into Sam’s heart the way the silver tore through the shifter, snapping him out of whatever haze came over him.

“Dean,” he gasps, dropping the knife with a deafening  _ clang _ by his brother’s feet and scrambling to untie Dean’s hands, leaving blood that isn’t his all over the ropes. He wipes the rest onto his jeans- they need to go in the wash anyway. “ _ Dean _ .”

“Sam,” Dean repeats, even quieter than before. His eyes are red-rimmed and it makes them look so much more green if that’s even possible. Tears have left clean streaks in the grime on his cheeks. He looks so broken and helpless, and Sam doesn’t know what to do, he just knows he needs to do  _ something _ .

“I’ve got you,” Sam murmurs, forcing down his anger. He needs to stay calm and take care of Dean. That’s his goal right now.  With a soft hand on his brother’s thigh, Sam murmurs,“Dean, I need to see how much damage there is.” Dean whimpers, shaking his head frantically with an expression on his face that’s like someone twisted the knife already in Sam’s heart. “I know, I’m sorry, I don’t like it either, but if you’re bleeding we need to go to a doctor.”’

Dean’s shaking still, but he nods and carefully spreads his legs. Sam gently examines his hole, feeling relieved at the lack of any blood and the presence of what looks like lube, though it certainly hasn’t lessened Dean’s discomfort. His rim is puffy and red, his hole gaping enough for Sam to see that the deep color continues inside. It looks pretty painful as it clenches around nothing. The lube is mixed with a white something he decides he doesn’t want to think about, otherwise he might throw up and that won’t do anything to help them. The tiny trembling of Dean’s body, though, makes him want to bring the shifter back to life just so he can kill it again.

Sam sits up, moving to press a kiss to Dean’s forehead in order to hide just how angry he is. He needs to stay calm. “It’s okay. No blood. What do you need me to do?” He strips off his jacket and wraps it around Dean’s shoulders.

“I just wanna go home.” Dean tucks his face into Sam’s chest, a movement so unlike Dean that is physically hurts Sam.

Sam nods, scanning the room until he sees the pile of clothes in the far corner. Dean’s clothes are right on top. He tries not to think about where the rest of the clothes probably came from. “Alright. We have to get you dressed first.”

Sam starts to get up, but fingers dig into his shirt, keeping him in place.

“Hey.” Sam pushes a hand through Dean’s hair. “We need to get you dressed, so we can go home. I’ll be right there. You’ll see me the whole time. Okay?”

Dean nods. “Okay.” His face says he’s very much  _ not _ okay, but Sam has to get them out of here.

Sam presses a kiss to the top of his brother’s head before quickly crossing the room. He gathers up Dean’s clothes and hurries back. He gets Dean into his boxers, but the man is loose-limbed and malleable under Sam’s hands in a way that makes him sick, and suddenly he can’t go any further. He can’t just tug Dean around like this, dressing him like a doll.

“Dean,” he says quietly, cupping the man’s face in his hands, stubble and dirty skin against his palms. “Dean, look at me.” His voice is a little hard, bordering on desperate. “You gotta help me out here, okay?” This time it’s a little softer, like he’s asking, not telling. “C’mon, let’s get you into your jeans and shoes.”

Dean stares up at him, eyes a little blank and dull, but he eventually moves and helps Sam get his jeans up his legs. Shoes come next. Sam zips his coat around Dean and gathers the rest of Dean’s clothes.

“You carry these, I carry you?” Sam offers, pressing the bundle to Dean’s chest.

Dean nods and wraps one arm around them, other hand holding onto Sam’s shirt even tighter than before. Sam carefully pries his fingers loose and hooks Dean’s arm over his shoulders, so he can support Dean with an arm around his waist and still hold the flashlight.

Somehow, Sam manages to navigate them through the tunnels, up the ladder, and out the manhole he left open. He sends Dean up first, following close behind.

The Impala is parked a few feet away and Dean practically collapses against her with a ragged sigh, clothes falling to the ground and hands splayed over dark metal.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he croaks, leaning against the car.

That’s the last thing he says for several hours. Sam gets him bundled into the backseat so he can lie down and rest, and keeps one hand over the seat the entire drive home, giving Dean something to hold onto even when it starts to hurt his shoulder.

The drive home feels twice as long as their drive to the town yesterday, even though the weather is clear and it’s so late at night that they’re the only car on the road. Sam just wants to get Dean into their home- into their bed- where he can hold his brother close and help him heal.

* * *

 

Dean goes straight from the garage to the showers, knowing Sam will drop the duffel bags on a library table and follow him to the showers closer to the kitchen, the ones he prefers because it’s also close to their shared bedroom. Dean gets undressed, gathers the things he needs, and is under the water before Sam arrives, already soaping up and scrubbing at his skin. He hears his brother shuffle around, no doubt nervous, before leaning against the wall by the shower stall Dean’s chosen.

“Dean?” Sam says softly.

Dean sniffs, leaning against the wall above the shower knobs. His vision is blurry and he doesn’t want to cry, but he needs to cry, and he doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want Sam to see him this way anymore.

“Yeah?” he manages.

“May I come in?”

Dean forces himself to draw a deep breath, steadying his voice the best he can for his response. “No, please. Not… not right now.”

He can picture Sam’s accepting nod, the small frown on his perfect lips. “Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done. Is there anything specific you want to eat?”

Dean shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “N-no.”

“Okay. Call me if you need me.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Dean.”

The words wash over him, settling across his shoulders and heart, steadying his shaky hands and wrapping him in a layer of comfort. They never say those words- never. They have ways of implying it, of saying it without ever saying it, but Dean’s pretty sure the last time those words ever left Sam’s mouth was long before Stanford.

Before he can respond, Sam is gone and he’s  _ alone _ , vulnerable in the emptiness that makes him feel more fragile than a man with his build and lethality ever should. He’s away from Sam for the first time since that shifter got the drop on him, and a tiny part of him wants to call Sam back, but he doesn’t. He just picks up the soap and washcloth again.

Dean scrubs until his freckled skin is pink and raw, like that will get rid of the bruises on his hips and shoulders and wrists, the grunts and dirty kisses seared into his brain. When he can’t scrub anymore, he pulls out the enema kit he grabbed from the locked cupboard in the corner and gets the water to the right temperature- colder than he would like, but he knows any warmer could do him harm. He lubes the tip of the nozzle and carefully presses it to his hole. If this was a few hours ago, he wouldn't have needed lube, for the enema or anything else smaller than his fucking fist, and the thought makes his stomach churn, knees buckle heavy and forward a little into the wall with one hand stopping himself before he slips and falls. Plastic hits the floor as Dean’s stomach retches. All he has to throw up is bile, but that doesn’t stop his stomach and he lets himself slip down until there’s cold, slick tile under his knees. He hunches over the drain, despite the strain it puts on already sore muscles, as his body forces up nothing. The pain of it sits heavy in his belly and throat, drawing more tears from his eyes.

It’s all his fault. He let down his guard for that pretty bartender, who he now realizes was probably the shifter, and look where it got him.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid _ . Sam never would’ve fallen for that, ‘cause Sam’s too smart- too good for Dean. Maybe Sam will actually leave this time- maybe he’s already packed a bag and picked a car. Dean wouldn’t blame him. Who wants a hunter too goddamn stupid to know a trap when he sees one?

When his body stops protesting and he’s breathing a little easier, Dean stays on his knees. He picks up the enema he dropped. He has to lube the tip again and his muscles immediately tense when the nozzle, warmed a little by the shower water, presses against his hole. He has to force himself to relax to let the hard plastic in. Once it pushes past that first ring of muscle, things go smoother. He takes his time, making sure that every remnant that monster left inside him is gone, even though having anything in him right now is almost enough to start the retching again.

When Dean gets out of the shower, he discovers he was in there almost an hour- thank God for bewitched water heaters. He finds a pile of clean clothes on the counter, most likely left there by Sam. He gratefully slips into the soft boxers, oversized sweatpants, and a t-shirt that hangs loose on his frame- the latter two items definitely came out of Sam’s drawers- and then carefully makes his way out into the bunker. His body aches and he knows he’s going to hurt even more in the morning, but he’s home and clean and dressed in his brother’s clothes, and that makes everything better.

* * *

 

Sam is in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. He looks up when Dean enters the room and can’t help a smile. It never gets old, seeing Dean in his clothes. There’s a primal part of him that find immediate satisfaction in it.

“Hey,” he says gently. “I made tomato and rice soup and a grilled cheese.”

Dean nods, crossing the room with the soft slap of bare feet to tuck himself against Sam’s back, looping his arms around the taller man’s waist.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, breath warm through Sam’s flannel.

“Anything for you,” Sam promises, scooping some soup into two bowls. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Dean nods and lets go reluctantly. “Okay.”

Sam leads the way to the table. Dean sits gingerly and Sam can’t ignore it.

“Hey, we don’t have to sit here,” he says, still holding the bowls. “It’s more important that you be comfortable.”

“No, we can sit here,” Dean insists, but Sam can see how uncomfortable he is.

“Dean-”

“We’re sitting here, Sam,” Dean snaps, grabbing a bowl from Sam’s hand and beginning to eat.

Sam balks a little at that- he’s glad that Dean feels up to protesting Sam’s mother-henning, but he knows this is all a cover-up for how Dean’s really feeling. He knows Dean’s not okay- Sam’s not stupid- and he knows Dean needs to be comforted, but he also knows that if he pushes too hard he’ll end up pushing Dean away. He has to be careful about how he goes about this.

“Dean.” Sam keeps his voice firm, but gentle. “Come on, let’s go to our room. I’ll put in whatever movie you pick. How does that sound?”

There’s a long moment where Dean is silent, but Sam knows the sound of his brother’s brain by the way his thoughts flash across his guarded face. Dean finally asks,“Dr. Sexy?” His voice soft and hopeful, a sharp contrast to the bitterness from a moment ago as he glances up at Sam through blonde lashes he knows most women would kill to have.

“That’s not a movie,” Sam scolds playfully, keeping his tone light and teasing.

Dean’s body goes even more tense than it already is and he turns his face away. Sam immediately regrets his words in a way that he feels in the pit of his stomach. “I know, I just-”

“Whoa, hey,” Sam sets his bowl down and crouches beside his brother’s seat, gently guiding Dean’s face until green eyes meet his. “I’m just teasing, sweetheart. We can watch whatever you want. Okay?”

Dean brightens a little. “Okay.”

“Alright.” Sam rubs the pad of his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone. “Here, take the bowls and pick out whatever season you want to watch. I’ll bring the sandwiches.”

Dean takes the bowls, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he hangs around trying to watch Sam as discreetly as possible. Sam’s definitely can see, but he doesn’t say anything. If being close to Sam is what Dean needs, then it’s what Dean gets, even though Dean will never ask for it himself; he’s too stubborn for that. It’s part of his charm.

Sam gets the sandwiches from their spot by the stove and lets Dean lead the way to their room. It doesn’t take long to get everything set up. The two of them sit side by side on the bed, arms brushing as they eat. Dean’s leaning toward Sam, though Sam can see he’s trying to be tough and fight his need for comfort.

When he’s done with his food, Sam stretches in an attempt to casually loop his arm around Dean’s shoulder. He notices the tiny smile that flits over Dean’s lips, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he guides his brother to lean into him. With Dean tucked up against his side like this, things seem a little better. Like there’s hope that didn’t exist down in that shifter’s lair. 

Sam forces himself to pay attention, for Dean’s sake, and realizes this show isn’t nearly as bad as he always assumed it would be. It’s not an incredibly deep or intellectual show, but it’s nice if you need to unwind a bit, and the characters are engaging. Plus, Dr. Sexy definitely isn’t too bad to look at. Not as easy on the eyes as Dean himself, but Sam can see the appeal.

They only make it halfway through the second episode before Dean’s eyelids start to droop. Sam decides to not say anything until Dean starts to fight sleep and he decides he should step in, even though he knows Dean’s not going to be winning the war anytime soon.

“Dean,” Sam murmurs, turning his head to press a soft kiss to his brother’s hair. “Come on, time for bed.”

“No,” Dean almost whines, shaking his head and curling his fingers into Sam’s shirt.

“Well, at least let me change into something comfier.”

Dean reluctantly lets go, allowing Sam to get up and quickly change into his pajamas. The worn grey t-shirt is soft against his skin and he’s happy to be out of the dirty, bloody clothes. He turns off the lights and takes his spot next to Dean once more, opening his arms to his brother. Dean immediately burrows against his chest.

“Can I lay down?” he asks.

“Okay.”

Together they shift lower on the bed until Sam’s head is on the pillow, Dean’s on his chest. As Sam had hoped, it only takes a few minutes for Dean to fall asleep. Once he’s sure his brother is out for good, he grabs the remotes off the nightstand so he can turn off the show and the TV.

* * *

 

_ “So pretty.” _

_ Fingers dig into Dean’s hips, hard enough to leave bruises where only Sam should touch. The ropes are too tight around his wrists and are rubbing his skin raw, but the monster moving above him doesn’t care. It only curls it’s finger up, dragging roughly over Dean’s prostate and making him cry out involuntarily. _

_ “There we go. See, that’s not so bad, is it?” _

_ There’s lube, which Dean supposes he should be grateful for, but there’s not nearly enough, and what little there is sure doesn’t stop it from hurting. A fingernail catches repeatedly- purposefully- on the fragile skin of his insides, not enough to do real harm but definitely enough that he’ll be feeling it for however long the shifter will let him live once it’s finished. _

_ Part of him hopes it’s not long. _

_ “Get off me,” he growls, giving what he already knows to be a futile effort at bucking off the much heavier weight of the shifter. He’s so tired. He just wants it to be over. _

_ “Mmm, I don’t think so. I think I’ll keep you, actually. Leave you all trussed up and pretty, ready to use whenever I need. Yes, I like that.” _

_ Before Dean can respond, the finger is pulled out and replaced with something much,  _ much _ larger, something hot and thick that burns for what feels like an eternity as he’s forced open on it, dragging against his insides. He can’t help the scream that is pulled from his throat. He thrashes beneath the shifter, tears already leaking from the corners of his squeezed-shut eyes, and calls out for the brother that’s too far away to hear. _

* * *

 

“Dean!”

Dean jerks away with a cry, eyes snapping open to reveal Sam’s concerned face hovering over his. A choked sob breaks free from Dean’s chest and he grabs at his brother’s shirt, pulling the younger man down into a sloppy attempt at a passionate kiss. Sam startles, but kisses back once he processes what’s happening.

Suddenly desperate, Dean pulls at Sam’s shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Only then does Sam start to protest.

“Whoa, Dean, what’re you doing?” he asks, grabbing his brothers hands and pressing them to his bare chest. 

“Fuck me,” Dean gasps into Sam’s mouth.

Sam’s eyes go wide and he pulls back as much as he can. “Dean?”

“Please, Sam. I need it. Need you to make me yours again.”

A big hand brushes lightly against the side of his face. “Dean, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re still hurt.”

“Sam,  _ please _ .” He pulls his hands free of Sam’s grip to begin struggling with the drawstring of Sam’s pajama pants. “I need you. I can feel him all over me. I  _ need _ you, I need-”

“Dean, stop,” Sam says sharply, wrapping Dean in his arms and forcing him to look up into worried hazel eyes. “Stop. You’re not ready for this. Wait a few days. Let your body and mind recover a little. Then we’ll talk. Okay?”

“You don’t want me,” Dean gasps, pushing his brother away.

“No, Dean, that’s not it at all.” Big hands hold his face

“Then do this for me, Sam.  _ Please!”  _ Dean’s writhing under his brother and the tears come too fast, too strong. He’s choking on sobs that don’t belong to him, but to the shifter that did this to him. His wrecked voice and frantic eyes tell a story Sam doesn’t know if he can stomach to hear. “I can f-feel him, Sam. I-in me.” 

* * *

 

Sam’s gut twists, but he pushes down the bile rising in his throat. Dean’s hyperventilating, his words mixing too raggedly with his crying and the shallow breaths that are doing nothing to alleviate the red hue on his face and neck. “Shhh,” Sam coos, though his own voice shakes. He tries again and it’s a little softer this time as Dean lets go in a way that he’s never seen before. “I want you, Dean.” Sam holds Dean’s face even when he’s trembling and trying to hide in Sam’s chest. He forces those green eyes to look up at him when he says, “I want you so much, and I love you more than anything, but I don’t think either of us is ready for this yet. Okay?”

* * *

 

Dean manages a nod between sobs, turning to hide his face in Sam’s shoulder. Sam cradles the back of his head with one hand, the other rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, rocking Dean gently. “Let it all out. I’m here. You’re safe.” While Dean’s tucked safely in his chest, Sam lets his own tears fall.

Dean doesn’t know how long he cries for. He does know that when he finally feels drained, Sam’s arms are still tight around him.

“Hey,” Sam says, reaching over to grab a couple tissues from the box on the nightstand. He gently wipes Dean’s eyes, and Dean takes them to blow his nose and catches his hiccupping breath. “There we go. Feel any better?”

Dean shakes his head, sniffling. He feels ridiculous- he’s a grown-ass man, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t be crying. He should’ve fought back harder. If he had, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Hey, whoa.” Sam sits them both up and cradles Dean’s face in his hands, and Dean realizes with a jolt of horror that he was thinking out loud. “This isn’t your fault. Nothing that happened to you was your fault. Understand?”

“I shoulda- I shoulda-” Dean can’t finish his sentence- not that he’s really sure of what he’s trying to say.

“No.” Sam’s hair flips around a little with the almost violent shaking of his head. “Repeat after me, Dean. This is not your fault.”

“This is not my fault,” Dean manages, the words threatening to choke him.

Sam kisses his forehead. “It’s not your fault. Come on, let’s lie down and try to get a little more sleep.”

Dean allows himself to be guided down to lie against Sam’s chest. “It’s not my fault,” he repeats to himself, words barely audible. “It’s not my fault.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been several weeks since the… incident. Dean’s bruises have healed and he moves easier. His body may have recovered, but his mind still has a ways to go in Sam’s opinion. He’s been doing his best to encourage Dean to talk things out- it rarely works, but there have been a few times, particularly post-nightmare, when Dean has opened up a little bit and that seems to help him sleep easier. Things are starting to feel more normal, but Sam knows their normal has changed quite a bit and is never going to go back to the way it was before.

Sam hopes they can get close. Dean seems more comfortable around him. Dean has had some trouble being close to Sam since the assault, which wasn’t surprising in the slightest. He varies from cuddling with Sam in bed to not being able to handle being touched unless he’s looking directly at Sam. This gets better with time, but he still has his rough days and even rougher nights.

When Sam’s woken by Dean writhing on the bed next to him, he knows what to do. He coaxes Dean to wakefulness with gentle touches and soft words. When Dean’s eyes open, it’s almost like that first night all over again. Frantic hands grab at Sam’s shirt, yanking him down into a kiss that’s more teeth than anything else. Sam goes with it- it’s the first time they’ve kissed since the first night and Dean’s far more ready for this than he was then.

“ _ Sam, _ ” Dean gasps, one hand in Sam’s hair.

“I’ve got ya,” Sam assures him. He loops his arm around Dean’s waist, rolling them so Dean is on top, thick thighs on either side of Sam’s narrow hips. “What do you need from me, sweetheart?”

“Just need you.” Dean pulls Sam’s shirt up and off before shedding his own. “Fuck, Sam,  _ please- _ ”

“I’ve got you,” Sam repeats, letting Dean push him down onto the bed. “I’m here, I’m yours. Tell me what you need from me.”

“I can feel him.” Dean’s voice is broken, desperate, words hot against Sam’s collarbone as the older brother grinds their lower bodies together. “Can feel his- his  _ hands _ all over, I can’t-”

Sam sweeps his hands up Dean’s back and over his shoulders, keeping his touch firm. “He’s not here, Dean. I’m here. Focus on me. Listen to my voice.”

Dean nods. “I can’t… he’s inside me, he’s-  _ Sam _ -”

“Are you sure, Dean?”

This time, Dean’s nodding is beyond frantic. He lifts his body up and shoves down his boxers before stripping off Sam’s as well. When he settles back down, their hard cocks rub together and Sam moans.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Yeah, like that. Sam, I- lube. Where’s the lube?”

Even as he asks the questions, which seems to be directed more at himself than at Sam, Dean reaches over to his side table and digs the tube from the drawer.

“Do you want to do it or do you want me to do it?” Sam asks, hands settling on Dean’s thighs. His thumbs rub soothing circles.

“You,” Dean says, grabbing Sam’s right hand and spreading lube over his first three fingers. “Need it to be you.”

“Alright.”

Sam allows Dean to guide his hand down, between perfect thighs and behind Dean’s balls to stroke over that sensitive spot Sam hadn’t expected to be touching so soon. The skin is silky smooth and when Sam pushes at the tight ring of muscle, Dean’s whole body goes stiff.

“Hey,” Sam soothes, returning to rubbing circles around Dean’s hole. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay here with me. Do you need me to stop?”

“No, no-” Dean bites his lips and carefully rolls his hips, testing the waters as he pushes back onto Sam’s fingers. “Can’t stop- I need-” Another rolls of his hips results in the very tip of Sam’s finger pushing past that first ring of muscle and Dean groans, falling forward to hide his face in Sam’s shoulder.

Sam brings his free hand up to rub Dean’s upper back and shoulders. He keeps talking as he works his finger deeper, stroking over Dean’s prostate and encouraging him to relax. The more he talks, the more in-the-moment Dean stays, the better things go and soon Sam’s sliding a second finger in.

“You’re doing so good,” Sam tells him, lips right next to Dean’s ear. “I’m so proud of you. Tell me if you need to stop. I won’t be upset. I need you to be okay more than anything. Alright?”

“Uh-huh,” Dean murmurs, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hey, hey, I want you to look at me.” Sam lifts his chin with two fingers. “Can you do that? Let me so those eyes, big brother.”

Blond lashes flutter, revealing a green that never fails to take Sam’s breath away. Sam smiles.

“There you are,” he says, leaning up to Dean to kiss him with nothing but the passion and love that’s been there since they were just kids. Sam breaks the kiss, pushing in a third finger and rubbing right up against Dean’s prostate. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Good,” Dean breathes out against Sam’s mouth, shifting his hips to grind down onto Sam’s fingers. “Full.” His pupils are blown wide, just a sliver of green around the edges. “Sam, please-”

“I’ve got you. Condom or no condom?”

“No condom.” Dean’s tone is firm, no hesitation behind the words, but Sam can’t help questioning.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I need to feel you. Need you to make me yours.”

“You’re always mine, Dean. Always have been, always will be, baby,” Sam assures him, tapping lightly against Dean’s prostate and swallowing the resulting moan with his own lips. “How do you want to do this. Like this?”

Dean shakes his head and rolls off of Sam, settling on his front. “Like this. Need you to… need you to replace-” he cuts off abruptly, arching his back and practically offering himself to Sam in a way Sam didn’t expect. “ _ Please _ .”

Sam gets up, settling on his knees between Dean’s spread legs. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, just- keep talking?”

“I can do that.” He slicks up his cock and nudges is right against Dean’s loosened hole. “Ready, Dean?”

“Ready.”

“Alright, here we go.” Sam loops an arm around Dean’s torso, pressing his hand over Dean’s pounding heart. “Stay with me, Dean.”

The first push makes Dean tense and draws a sound from him that has Sam genuinely concerned he hurt himself. He freezes, rubbing soothing circles over Dean’s lower back and hips.

“It’s just me, Dean. Just me. Can you let me in? Just take a deep breath for me, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

Dean whines low in his throat before forcing himself to take a deep breath.

“We’re gonna take this at your pace. Tell me if you need to stop, okay?”

Dean nods.

“Dean, I need to hear you. I need you to come out of your head and be here, with me. Would it help if you rolled over? So you can see my face?”

There’s a moment of thoughtful silence before Dean whispers, “Please.”

Sam sits back and guides Dean onto his back. Dean lets his legs fall open, baring himself to Sam with an expression that twists a knife into Sam’s heart.

“Dean, we don’t have to do this,” Sam reminds him, gently stroking his shins.

“I need this,” Dean says again. “Please, Sam.”

“Okay. I need you to promise me that you  _ will _ tell me if you need to stop.”

“I promise, I will, just please- Sam, I need you-”

“I’ve got you,” Sam says for what’s probably the millionth time, but the words work. He watches them settle in Dean’s mind, watches the nervousness on his face relax just a little. “Shall we try this again?”

“Yes, please,” Dean says softly.

Sam leans down and molds his front to Dean’s, capturing his brother’s lips in a kiss as he pushes the tip of his cock against the softened ring of muscle. Dean moans, relaxing even more and allowing Sam to slip inside.

“Fuck,” Dean gasps, eyes flying open.

“It’s just me,” Sam assures him, carefully rolling his hips to work his cock deeper. “Eyes on me, Dean. It’s just us here. You and me, together, like we’re meant to be. Right?”

“Soulmates,” Dean sighs, one hand coming up to run through Sam’s hair.

Sam smiles and nuzzles against the older man’s jaw. “Yeah. Soulmates.”

Dean smiles, soft in a way Sam hasn’t seen in a while. “Soulmates,” he repeats.

“Can I touch your cock?” Sam inquires, tracing Dean’s jaw with the tip of his nose.

“If you want.” Dean’s eyes flicker away from Sam’s face a moment, long enough to make Sam worry.

“Yes or no, sweetheart,” he says firmly, cupping Dean’s cheek and encouraging him to meet his eyes again.

Dean nibbles his lower lip nervously. “... yes.”

Sam lifts up a little so he can work a hand between their bodies and wrap it around Dean’s cock. He’s glad to find that Dean is on his way to full arousal. He carefully strokes Dean’s erection as he finally buries himself to the hilt in the tight heat of his brother’s body.

“How’s that?” he inquires, pressing a line of kisses along Dean’s collarbone.

“Good. Really good.”

Dean’s pupils are blown wide and there doesn’t seem to be any discomfort in his expression, which encourages Sam to move a little more. When his cock bumps over Dean’s prostate, the smaller man throws his head back with a moan and digs his hand into Sam’s hair.

“There we go,” Sam praises. “Still with me?”

“Yes,” Dean hisses, lifting his head to kiss Sam fiercely.

“Good.” Sam sits up a little so he can trace fingers over Dean’s face, keep his eye locked on those familiar green ones. His other hand strokes steadily over Dean’s cock in time with the movements of his own hips. He can feel Dean’s body trembling, but not in a frightened way. These are the tremors that Sam knows as indications of Dean’s approaching orgasm. “Yeah, there you go. Come on. Let it go for me, brother.”

Dean shakes apart beautifully, spilling all over Sam’s hand as his inner muscles ripple. That’s all it takes to pull Sam over the edge after him. He groans and leans down to kiss the sound into Dean’s mouth.

“Sam,” Dean breathes, looping his arms around the younger man’s neck. “Sam.”

“I’m here, Dean. I’m here. I love you.”

Dean’s grin is soft and a little loopy with bliss. “I love you, too.”

Sam carefully pulls out. He gets the towel from the sink by the door and gets it a little wet to clean them both up. Dean lays quiet through this process, watching Sam work.

“Sam?” he asks when Sam returns from hanging the towel over the edge of the laundry hamper in the corner.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam lays down beside him. “Did it help?”

“I think so.” Dean tucks himself under Sam’s arm, pressing their bare bodies together. They’re both really going to need to shower in the morning, but Sam’s okay with that.

Dean sleeps soundly the rest of the night and Sam knows that while things aren’t completely fixed, they’re getting better and that’s all he needs.


End file.
